The Prayer
by PsychAnalyst
Summary: The year 2013 wasn't an agreeable year for Maria Santos Mercado de la Cruz y Carriedo, otherwise known as the Republic of the Philippines. Indeed, it wasn't.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia nor the song. I'm just using them to vent my angst.

**Contains:** A lot of depressing stuff.

**So yeah... This one's dedicated to the victims of the Zamboanga Crisis, the earthquake in Central Visayas, and to the victims of Typhoon Yolanda (Haiyan). Thank you to those who prayed and helped out - you guys are awesome.**

**I wasn't affected personally nor was my family (thank God), but it hit us hard all the same. Keep strong, guys.**

* * *

**The Prayer**

The year 2013 wasn't an agreeable year for Maria Santos Mercado de la Cruz y Carriedo, otherwise known as the Republic of the Philippines. In fact, it was a year laden with loss and despair; of innumerable numbers of destruction and desolation. It was a year of lives lost, families separated, and children asking for parents who would never come home. A year of run down houses and unsatiated hunger, sleeping on broken asphalt and waking up to streets littered with lifeless bodies.

It was a year of horror where 3 events suddenly took away a great number of her people.

The first was the Zamboanga Crisis that occurred on the 8th of September, beginning with an interception of a navy patrol boat.

And suddenly, families were terrified of leaving their homes. They hid their children behind their rickety wooden doors, praying to a God that had not warned them. Bodies dropped suddenly as gunshots rang casually in the once peaceful air, and bullets whizzed by the ears of both civilian and soldiers as though they were but the summer insects that were by now silenced from singing their summer songs.

A war, small as it may have been, was upon them, and they were caught unaware and unprepared, their numbers at the mercy of the terrorists. And although the numbers favored the task force of Zamboanga, the number of lives that were wasted for a "skirmish" that shouldn't have come to such a spill was devastating. The worst of all were the 100,000 people who would forever have the horror and fear and helplessness imprinted in their minds, forever making them mistrust the integrity of the world.

It was a battle that may not have gone beyond Zamboanga, but to those who were at the center of it, it was like the world had abandoned them to the devil's plans.

The second was the earthquake of Maria's Central Visayas, affecting mostly Bohol and Cebu. And just like the Zamboanga Crisis, it took the people of Central Visayas by surprise as the world suddenly trembled under their feet at a 7.2 intensity earthquake on the 15th of October.

Eight were confirmed to be missing, hundreds dead, nearly a thousand left homeless, structures damaged and a fraction completely destroyed. A church, the house of God to many, crumbling like a tower of cards, unable to withstand the trembling earth and, like that, so had the faith of many.

And there was no one to turn to with planes and ships unable to come or go from devastated land. In a way, her people were alone in the aftermath of the tragedy, unable to even see or hear if there were people from outside of the congregation of islands who cared for their failing health and continued existence.

Dreams and aspirations, wishes and whispered promises - broken, crumbled, smashed into pieces. And although there were buildings that still stood resilient on the cracked stone and shaking pillars, the same could not be said of the people, both those who were lost and those who survived.

The final blow however was the deadliest typhoon that had hit the world internationally named Typhoon Haiyan. Maria's people however called it Yolanda, a name closer to home. And ironically, it was.

Of all the countries affected by the torrent of wind and rain, Maria had taken the brunt of it. It had been a typhoon many people had seen coming. And yet no one could have predicted just how much heartache and heartbreak it would bring. She had barely had enough time to recover from the two previous events when this next one stole from her so many of her children...some who really WERE children.

It had just crept on the hapless victims like a sly wave of assassins. A lot of them had still lain on their beds of that seemingly peaceful morning of November when torrents of merciless rain and waves of monstrous seawater fell like the relentless servants of death, taking in their waters their homely possessions, their family, and their faith.

The aftermath was no better for when faith failed them, a lot of the survivors resorted to becoming criminals, stealing and looting and generally trying to feed the stomachs of those who still had a beating heart to eat. Morals were thrown out of the window, the same way their lives were tossed out carelessly into oblivion.

There was no one to come home to, no one who could comfort them. Only dilapidated houses and dead bodies. No 'nanay' to kiss them on their forehead or 'tatay' to tell them to stay strong, no 'ate' or 'kuya' who would tease them and yet at the same time stand tall for them when they couldn't. 'Bunso' is gone, her body found under the rubble of what should have been the ceiling that protected her from the elements. For once, they were glad that 'lolo' and 'lola' had died earlier than this. They didn't need to see that a lot of their family followed soon after them. Their homes, built by the loving and excited hands of their parents who looked forward to a bright future for them, gone - splattered with bullets, cracking from the strong quakes, or washed away by towering storm surges of the ocean that once provided them a way of living.

And Maria wept and wailed and mourned and prayed. For so many hadn't had the power to do so, already dried of tears and empty of hope. So Maria did it for them, for her people. Even when bedridden, feeling the effects of these tragedies, her heart beating in tandem to those who survived, she persisted. Resilient in her belief that her people will be able to rise up from these tragedies and continue being the people she knew and loved who didn't bow to the atrocities of misfortune.

"Lead us to a place. Guide us with Your grace..." she prayed silently, her trembling hands encased in Alfred's larger ones. "Give us faith so we'll be safe."

Antonio smiled a bit and whispered, "Amen." He bent down and gave a kiss on his former colony's forehead, brushing away the stray locks of hair from her dark brown eyes. "Go to sleep, mi hija. We'll be here when you wake up, I promise..."

Alfred gave a small grin. "Yeah. Don't you worry about it Maria. A hero like me won't just abandon you."

Maria's eyes teared as she looked at the people that surrounded her bedside. Kiku stood near the door, still stoic, but his eyes betrayed his concern. Arthur had laid his head on her bedside, his free hand draped across her waist. Yao was on the other side of her cot, reading on herbs and their uses. Francis entered the room with a cup of coffee which he passed to Matthew who had seated near the window. Ludwig was consoling Feliciano who had been watching an El Gamma Penumbra performance in the telly while Lovino was grumbling about dramatic potato bastards and his pussy of a brother who needed a handkerchief. Kirana (Indonesia) was playing a card game with Ezrine (Singapore), Xiao Mei (Taiwan), and Mai Ly (Vietnam).

She blinked, letting the tears that had gathered to fall.

_E la fede che  
_

Many had suffered. Many had perished. Many had seen death and accepted it.

_Hai acceso noi  
_

But there were still people who cared. They might not be people you know. Or people you would have thought would help.

_Cento che ci salvera..._

But she wasn't alone. THEY weren't alone. And for now, that was enough.

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**Translation:**

"nanay" - mother  
"tatay" - father  
"ate/kuya" - older sister/brother (respectively)  
"bunso" - younger sibling  
"lolo/lola" - grandfather/grandmother (respectively)

**Hope you could feel the same guys. God bless! And Merry Christmas.**


End file.
